


The Shadow Alchemist: The Quest for the Sphere of Justice

by docwinters



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/docwinters/pseuds/docwinters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the Promised Day; a dark spectre threatens the fragile peace that the coup managed to create, it falls on the shoulders of Colonel Azrael Gotha, the Shadow Alchemist, and the men and women of the 82nd Mounted Infantry Regiment to find the fabled Sphere of Justice, and to somehow restore Amestris to its former glory, or watch it fall to neverending night</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode One: Flame and Shadow

Episode One: Flame and Shadow

En-route to East City, Southern Amestris, 11:45pm January 15, 1917  
A long passenger train snaked its way through the mountain range that separated Southern Amestris from the Eastern Frontier, its front lamp piercing the darkness. As was common for this rail route, it was filled by mostly travelling civilians and displaced Ishbal refugees returning home from the many camps that dotted the countryside. However, what was not normal was the abundance of blue-uniformed soldiers occupying every vacant seat and staging area.  
The situation was tolerable at the front of the train, but in the second-class carriages the officers sat bunched in small groups amongst middle-class civilians who made no effort to hide their displeasure at having to share their precious space with these individuals. In the single first-class car a lone female officer made her way towards a cabin with the blinds drawn for privacy, knocking once against the doorframe before a sharp “Enter” beckoned her inside.  
“Colonel, I just spoke to the Engineer; as long as we don’t encounter any delays between stops we should reach East City by eight a.m. tomorrow,” she reported peering into the darkened cabin that surrounded its sole occupant.  
“Do you realise that it has been ten years since I’ve been in the East,” the colonel commented, as if oblivious to her statement, before deactivating the alchemical array that assisted him in his meditation. He looked over to the curvaceous brunette and nodded, the whites of his eyes a cloudy black as red veins stretched across their surface before he motioned her inside. “That is good news, Athena, have we received any additional instructions from Eastern Command in regards to our rather sudden summons?”  
First Lieutenant Athena Heinkel shook her head before taking the seat opposite the Colonel as the shadows started to recede back into the walls.  
“Negative, sir; at the last check-in, I requested additional instructions and they repeated Brigadier Mustang’s orders, ‘The 82nd Mounted Regiment is to proceed in force to Eastern Command immediately, further orders will be made available upon arrival.’” The Lieutenant’s expression changed fleetingly as she fidgeted in her seat trying to get comfortable.  
“Speak your mind, Lieutenant,” the colonel stated, resting his head against the headboard. “You know you don’t have to stand on protocol with me.”  
Athena took a breath before continuing, “I mean seriously, Azrael, does the military even know how much it costs to ship a regiment halfway across the country at a moment’s notice?”  
Colonel Azrael Gotha returned the black field dagger that sat on the table next to the window to its scabbard under his kama. As his eyes regained their normal colouring, he sat upright, reaching for the nearby glass of water. “I’ve known Mustang for some time; as well as his pet obsession with the stability of the East and the new Ishbalan frontier. He wouldn’t redeploy an entire regiment for no reason. But to have that regiment be a Special Operations Division, I have concerns of what may be happening in the East.” The colonel took a sip of water before continuing, “What is the disposition of the men?”  
Athena looked down at the hasty scribbled note she was holding. “Restless, sir, but this isn’t anything new to them. There is some concern at the sheer size of the deployment, but they have faith in you and our orders.”  
Azrael nodded before he returned the empty glass to the table, and as telegraph poles blurred past he stood and withdrew the burnished pocket watch from its pouch on his belt to check the time. “It is good to see that the men still have faith in me after all these years,” he commented before returning the watch to its pouch and moved towards the door. “I need some air, please prepare the sleeping berth, I suspect that all our questions will be answered in the morning.”  
“Understood, sir,” Athena replied before moving into the other section of the cabin, to prepare the twin sleeping compartment as Azrael exited the cabin and proceeded towards the rear of the train.

East City Train Yards Amestris, 08:10am January 16, 1917  
A morning frost had turned the countryside a brittle white as the train pulled into the station. On the track beside it a locomotive bore the insignia of the State Military; its freight cars were empty as engineers uncoupled wagons to prepare to turn the train around for a return trip to Central. The train slowly pulled up to the platform, creaking and groaning as jets of pressurised steam brought it to a stop. As the station hands opened the carriage doors, the soldiers of the 82nd Mounted exited and formed up into platoons on the platform.  
Azrael stood in the doorway of the first-class carriage, his black travel coat over one arm. He cast his gaze across the sea of blue-uniformed soldiers being attended to by their platoon lieutenants; each hefted a rucksack and a submachine gun as they lined up ready to move out at the word of their superiors.  
“Major Hudson, did we lose anyone on the way?” he asked as he stepped onto the platform and approached a mountain of a man standing at the terminus of the platform and the gravel road siding, Athena followed close behind him as the Major directed the regiment to their designated billet.  
Major Douglas Hudson, the executive officer of the 82nd, turned towards the Colonel and shook his head, “Negative, sir, everyone’s accounted for.”

Azrael smiled, pleased, before handing his attaché case to Athena who headed towards the waiting staff car. A group of soldiers marched past the three officers onto the road towards temporary barracks accommodation. “Good to hear, Doug. I don’t know how long we are going to be here, so I’m authorising liberty to the men once they are settled.”  
“Very good, sir, while we’re here we may get a chance for a friendly with these East City Boys.” Hudson gestured over his shoulder to a pair of soldiers standing sentry over the military train which blew its whistle, signalling that it was ready to depart.  
The revving of a nearby engine caused the two to turn towards the station’s car park. Israel’s attention was immediately drawn to the staff car where Athena stood waiting by the open rear door, her concerned expression visible even from the distance as she stood next to the staff car’s rear door; the lieutenant pantomimed the gesture of checking a pocket watch, as if to remind him of their pressing engagements.  
Douglas noticed the display being played out in front of them and laughed, “Looks like your cue to leave, sir.” The colonel chuckled before nodding.  
“It would appear so. Major, I leave the regiment in your capable hands; I hope that when I return, I have a reason for our being here.” Hudson snapped to attention and the two saluted, before Azrael walked towards the waiting vehicle. Major Hudson swivelled on a bootheel, crunching gravel underfoot before returning to his duties.  
Eastern State Military Headquarters, East City, Amestris, 08:30am January 16, 1917  
The staff car paused in front of the large spike-tipped wrought-iron gates next to the security checkpoint. The black-uniformed security guard approached the driver-side window to verify the identification of the vehicle’s occupants before opening the gates, saluting as the vehicle passed him. The car pulled into the designated parking lot in front of the large imposing white building that was the Eastern State Military Command Headquarters. It stood alone, surrounded by inspection fields, parade grounds and high-security walls. The building had always represented a bastion in a region of political uncertainty. Eastern Command had survived the previous decade of conflict more or less unscathed as the fiercest of battles occurred elsewhere, though it did wear the scars of previous conflicts, most of which were obscured by layers of white paint.  
Azrael and Athena ascended the stairs at the front of the headquarters building, passing a set of ornate mahogany doors beckoning them into the blue-painted interior. The colonel shook his head before chuckling as the pair turned down one of the branching corridors from the large open reception area.  
“What’s so funny, Colonel?” Athena asked as the two climbed the staircase to the second floor of the building, where the administrative offices were located.  
“Nothing, Lieutenant, just that every State Military Building looks like every other State Military Building, right down to the horrible blue wall paint,” he replied before approaching another pair of mahogany doors. This set had a brass plate bolted beside the door which read in thick engraved lettering, ‘Brigadier R Mustang, Commander; Eastern Region’. Athena opened the door for the two to enter into the General’s outer office.  
“Colonel Gotha, sir!” one of the personnel inside exclaimed, causing Azrael to look up at the soldiers staffing the rowed desks along the sides of the outer office.  
“Sergeant Major Fuery, it is good to see you in uniform again,” Azrael replied before Athena collected his travel coat and hung it on a nearby coat rack; the colonel took in General Mustang’s remaining staff who had looked up when the two entered. “I’m glad they got you out of the trenches and back into an office.”  
“Thank you, sir, it’s good to be back where I’m supposed to be,” Sergeant Major Kain Fuery replied. Athena approached the small desk near the set of interior doors and the junior NCO sitting behind a typewriter.  
“Colonel Gotha of the 82nd Mounted Regiment SOD to see Brigadier General Mustang,” she stated as Azrael made polite small talk with Mustang’s staff about the year following the Promised Day Incident.  
The Brigadier’s secretary nodded before picking up the receiver of the black phone on her desk. “Brigadier Mustang, it’s Warrant Officer Spiers, sir, Colonel Gotha is here to see you…yes sir, I’ll let him know.” the warrant officer placed the receiver back into its cradle, “Colonel, the Brigadier is currently in conference, if you wouldn’t mind waiting for a moment, he will see you shortly.”  
***  
Azrael looked down at his burnished pocket watch: eleven o’clock. The colonel sighed before he leant against the wall near the door; following an hour waiting at Brigadier Mustang’s office, he had taken to pacing length of the room and had done so for what seemed to be a hundred times. He looked over to Athena as she continued to nurse the almost customary black attaché case as he returned his watch to its pouch on his belt and started pacing once more.  
“You are going to wear a hole in the carpet if you keep pacing, sir,” Athena commented before leaving her position chatting with Warrant Officer Spiers to approach the Colonel. During the past three hours, despite maintaining an active conversation with the Lieutenant, Warrant Officer Holly Spiers’ gaze never left the form of the mysterious Colonel or the blackened alchemist watch that hung from his belt. Athena had become used to this response; very few officers were exposed to an officer who had served in the Inspector General’s Office or spent their early career hunting rogue alchemists.  
Azrael smirked, before turning his head to face his brunette companion, “You know, Athena, this is just like Roy, to keep us waiting like this; the smug bastard.”  
Almost on reflex, Athena ran her free hand against the nape of her neck under her thick brown hair before smiling, “Come now, Colonel, he’s not that bad, after all they did make him a Brigadier General, and we haven’t been here that long.” She blushed slightly before taking a breath to compose herself.  
“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” the Colonel remarked before turning towards the secretary. “Are you sure Mustang is even in there?”

Holly jumped at his words; he hadn’t spoken to the mousy black-haired NCO since they entered the office; “Yes, Colonel Gotha, sir, Brigadier Mustang is in his office, and has been since this morning. Captain Hawkeye has been in with him the whole time; would you like me to see if he is free now?” she asked. The colonel nodded before the secretary picked up the receiver to the interoffice phone and pressed a button. “Brigadier Mustang, it’s Warrant Officer Spiers again, sir. Colonel Gotha is still here to see you…yes, sir; your appointment book does say you have a meeting with the Colonel at nine o’clock…yes, sir, from the 82nd Mounted Regiment…yes, sir, I am aware that it is eleven o’clock…I’ll send him in, sir…yes, sir, you sound very well rested.”  
Placing the receiver back in its cradle the non-commissioned officer looked up at Colonel Gotha, a defeated expression on her face: “You can go in now, Colonel.”  
“Thank you, Miss Spiers,” Azrael replied curtly before retrieving his peaked cap from the receptionist’s desk and opening the doors, Athena following quickly behind him and closing the doors.

The sound of the doors closing and two pairs of boot steps caused Brigadier General Roy Mustang to look up from behind a massive, ornately decorated oak desk; his hands steepled so that his index fingers ran alongside his nose and his chin sat on his thumbs. While he appeared to have taken the mantle and responsibilities of a Brigadier General tasked with rebuilding the Eastern Frontier, the increased workload didn’t seem to detract from his boyish good looks that made him a playboy and the military’s poster child even with the inclusion of a pencil moustache. Standing beside him with a pile of unsigned reports in her hands was Captain Riza Hawkeye, Mustang’s aide-de-camp and bodyguard. Riza’s military stance and expression, as always, seemed to counter the General’s demeanour. 

“Colonel Gotha, Lieutenant Heinkel, apologies on keeping you waiting; Captain Hawkeye here has made it her mission that I get up to date with paperwork,” Mustang stated in a curt militaristic tone, remaining in his seat as the two officers stood at attention opposite him, left hand against peaked cap in salute. Mustang sat up in his chair and returned the salute somewhat half-heartedly before his expression relaxed, gaining a more welcoming appearance. He then stood and came around the desk before holding out his hand to the colonel. “Azrael, it is good to see you out of exile,” he remarked, beaming as the fellow Alchemist took the offered hand, shaking it vigorously.  
“The Southern Territories are just as important as the East, General; they are just more pacified. Now I expected you would eventually get the big kick upstairs; I did not expect it would require a coup for it to happen,” Azrael replied, removing his peaked cap and sticking it under his left arm. Athena took the cap from under his arm and placed it on a side table, an almost indiscernible frown creeping momentarily onto her face.  
Roy simply laughed before turning to face her. “It’s good to see that you are still looking after him, Lieutenant.” He took a moment to run his eyes over her, “And I see that the South has not been harsh on you either,” he said approvingly.  
Athena nodded reflexively; her olive skin had gained a tan in her time on the Aerugo Frontier. “Thank you, Brigadier Mustang,” she replied, her cheeks colouring once more. While she was blessed with a perfect hourglass figure and was used to receiving compliments, but to receive them from the roguish playboy brigadier was something entirely different.

Mustang turned back to Azrael, his expression changing once more; this was his serious face. “I am sorry to have brought you out here; I know following the coup you felt you had a lot to atone for and that working in the South is your believed penance. I have before me a very delicate mission and I need someone leading the expedition with a very special skillset in particular.” Roy held out his hand, palm up, and Riza placed the first manila folder in her arms in it before Riza turned to Athena.  
The blonde captain turned to her counterpart and smiled, taking the nonverbal cue from Mustang. “Lieutenant, take a walk with me would you? You missed the Führers Challenge this year. I would have expected to see you there on the firing line beside me,” she remarked, moving the files aside to display the newest award on her jacket. A pair of brass crossed rifles hung from a gold and red ribbon above her left breast signifying that she won the prestigious shooting competition.  
“What! I didn’t think they were going to have a Führer’s Challenge this year, but I’m more concerned about what you did with all your hair,” Athena remarked, surprised at the turn of events. A scowl of displeasure appearing briefly on her face before she nodded in agreement, following the captain out of the office, leaving Azrael alone with Mustang.

Once the doors had closed, Roy handed the file to Azrael. “The eggheads in R&D stumbled upon this in the Führers archives after the regime change. It is supposed to make the Philosopher Stone project appear to be mere trinkets in regards to alchemical power.” The lack of any expression on the Brigadier’s features stressed the dangers of simply having the file in the Colonel’s possession. “Azrael, we both used the stone during the war in Ishbal, we know what destruction that wrought; this is supposed to be vastly more powerful, more dangerous, by a factor of at least a hundred.”  
Azrael skimmed over the cover before opening the file to read the missive. “The Sphere of Justice, sounds ominous, but what exactly does it do?” Azrael asked flipping through the research notes Führer Bradley had already compiled, notations written in the same florid script that was on his Alchemist Accreditation Certificate.  
Mustang frowned before moving to the large set of windows that filled the left wall of his office, watching the soldiers on inspection in the courtyard below.  
“According to Bradley’s notes it can apparently create life from nothing, bring people back from the dead, and give an Alchemist the ability to alter the very fabric of time itself. There is no proof to any of this, however; for all we know it could just be another fool’s errand, like the Philosophers Stone, or it could be the most powerful weapon of mass destruction ever created. Either way we need to be sure; if it is real, we need to keep it out of the hands of people like the Homunculi or their diabolical masters.” He turned back to face Azrael, joining him in the middle of the office. “We may have killed Bradley and the entity known as Father, but there is no telling if there may be more like them still in hiding.”

Azrael nodded slowly before closing the file, “Where do I start looking?”  
The Brigadier turned to the map that covered the entire right wall; the map showed the known world with Central at its heart and each of the four sovereign nations that surrounded it. “Bradley’s research suggests that it might be located in the place where all this began; Xerxes. Most of the research he had compiled pointed towards the lost city in some degree or other; we sent an archaeological team there a month ago to investigate unrelated matters but they have since gone missing. Their disappearance may have resulted from an incident with one of the nomadic desert tribes, or it may have something to do with what you are looking for; from here I cannot speculate.” Roy pointed to a place in the Eastern Desert, the approximate site of the ruins of Xerxes as its exact location was too small to be visible on a map this size.  
Azrael nodded before taking in the area around the point Roy indicated, “While I’m out there am I to look for the missing expedition?”  
Mustang crossed his arm across his chest, resting his chin in the palm of one hand. “Your priority is to find the Sphere; however, if you find any evidence to the whereabouts of the expedition there are families here that could use the closure.”  
Azrael nodded before looking back to the Brigadier General. “The Eastern Desert is still a very dangerous place, sir; I take it that is why the 82nd Mounted was relocated here with me?” Mustang nodded.  
The Colonel stood to attention before saluting the General, “I guess I have a lot of work ahead of me.”  
Mustang returned the salute before holding out his hand once again. “Good luck, Azrael, I personally selected you for this expedition, I know you will succeed.” The Colonel smiled confidently before exiting the office.

Azrael intercepted Athena as she walked back towards Mustang’s office with Riza; the two were still talking about the marksmanship competition and comparing the number of times they both had won it.  
“Colonel?” Athena said when Azrael approached the two women.  
The colonel nodded to her in greeting before handing her the manila folder; the Lieutenant took the file, its large red ominous TOP SECRET stamp on its cover instructed her on what to do with it. Placing it within the attaché case, she faced Riza. “As always, Captain, it is a pleasure; we must catch up again soon, but please, don’t do anything so drastic with your hair again.” The captain nodded before turning to Azrael and saluting before departing, continuing her course towards Mustang’s office.  
Azrael turned to Athena. “We have an important mission ahead of us; we need to return to Regimental Headquarters to make plans.” Before the lieutenant could reply, Azrael had already started moving towards the exit, causing the shorter brunette to chase after him, one hand holding the case, the other across her chest allowing her to run.

East City: Regimental Headquarters; 82nd Mounted Regiment, Amestris, 06:45pm January 16, 1917

Azrael sat at the small desk in his office; requisition reports, movement orders and personnel files were arrayed on one portion of its surface, the other contained sections of the report Brigadier Mustang had given him, including a copy of his orders:

From: Brig. General R Mustang [Flame Alchemist]: Eastern Command  
To: Colonel A Gotha [Shadow Alchemist]: 82nd Mounted Regiment  
You have been ordered to locate any and all evidence supporting the existence of the alchemical device known as the ‘Sphere of Justice’ not restricted to the device itself and methods of application. Alternatively, evidence must be supplied refuting its existence. While recovery is preferred, destruction of the artifact is authorised if it cannot be properly secured or to prevent it falling into the wrong hands.  
Good luck

Azrael had read and reread these orders in the back of his staff car on the journey back to the Regimental Headquarters of the 82nd Mounted, located on the outskirts of the city in one of the smaller supplementary military facilities. These barracks and warehouses dated back to when this region was a hotbed of political and social unrest following the Ishbal War. His orders were straightforward, it was the last sentence that troubled him: ‘…destruction… to prevent it falling into the wrong hands’. Mustang had never specifically stipulated just who was to be considered the ‘wrong hands’ or why the Shadow Alchemist had been considered the Alchemist with the required skillset for this task. While Azrael did consider himself an amateur archaeologist, he wasn’t of any real renown; it was a simple hobby to assist him deal with what he had done in the past ten years. He didn’t consider himself someone who should be digging around a dead city looking for a mythical doomsday weapon.

He was still poring over the reports in front of him when Athena entered the room carrying a tray and another pile of reports. She placed the tray on a nearby chair before putting the reports in the ‘IN’ tray. “Azrael, I’ve brought you some dinner, it didn’t look like you’d be surfacing today,” she remarked, reading over his shoulder as he checked the research against itself while filling out requisition orders for excavation equipment and troop transports.  
Azrael looked up for a moment to acknowledge his aide had entered the room. “Thank you, Athena, can you despatch these orders to the Quartermaster and the Motor Pool with the evening rider, I want to be able to depart for the Eastern Desert by midday tomorrow.”  
Athena nodded before collecting the requisition papers. “You look like you have a mystery in front of you, Colonel,” she commented as he started transcribing notes into a notebook.  
The alchemist sat back in his chair, placing the cap back on his pen, and nodded. “A device of supreme destructive and restorative power, and yet completely absent from all modern Alchemical texts and only mentioned in Eastern myths and legends from Ishval to Xing and the nomadic tribes of the Eastern Desert. If this is supposed to be the device with power surpassing even that of the Philosophers Stone, why did Bradley not look for it? Why did he lock this research away and focus entirely on the Red Stone?” he turned towards Athena and shook his head. “There are so many missing pieces of this puzzle, and I fear the reasons for that and what I may find.”  
Athena placed a supportive hand on her commanding officer’s shoulder. “So where do we start?”  
Azrael sat upright before sorting the papers on his desk. “Mustang suggests it may be in Xerxes, but the State has picked that place apart for centuries, and, considering the last expedition to go there went missing, I would prefer to have some more information before I start digging up the desert. There are clerics in the new Ishbal settlements who may be able to provide clues to this quest, and I think it’s time I face those demons I’ve been avoiding.”  
The Lieutenant nodded slightly before taking the required orders to the nightly despatch rider.

When Athena left his office, Azrael stood and unclasped his uniform jacket, revealing the black t-shirt underneath; he then hung the jacket on the back on his chair. The Shadow Alchemist placed both hands against the small of his back and pushed; an audible crack prompted a satisfied groan to escape his lips. Moving his arms he picked up the transcribed notes the former leader of Amestris had made and continued reviewing them. Azrael had met Führer King Bradley a number of times during his career before the Promised Day Incident, and at one time respected the former leader of Amestris. The most recent meeting was when Bradley travelled south to inspect the troops stationed there. When word had gotten out that the young Alphonse Elric had been kidnapped in Dublith, Bradley had requested a platoon of 82nd SOD troops join him on the rescue operation. While it was common doctrine to involve Special Operations Troops in hostage rescues, the State Leader had refused Israel’s offer to lead the operation, choosing to lead it himself and forbidding the Shadow Alchemist from interfering. It was that point, and the horror stories the survivors returned with, that prompted Azrael to legitimately investigate Bradley and lead him to join the Mustang Faction against him. To read research notes written in Bradley’s own hand about the Sphere brought back vivid images of the civil war, for a man – no, monster, Azrael corrected himself - to wield almost limitless power was terrifying.  
He moved over to the chair where Athena had left the tray of food and started picking sporadically at the plate. By the time he had retired for the evening several hours later, the plate had barely been touched.

***

The following morning, Azrael stood atop an observation platform before the five hundred and fifty men of the 82nd Mounted Regiment, dressed in desert duty uniforms and arrayed in standard parade formation in front of the assortment of desert-capable troop carriers assigned to them to complete that task. The colonel smiled as he took in each of the soldiers under his command. Unlike other Alchemists who were attached to military units as a support element, or like Brigadier Mustang who were assigned to a headquarters unit far from the front and only deployed to the field as ‘problem solvers’ and human weapons. Azrael was as much a part of the 82nd Mounted as the rest of the soldiers who wore the same unit insignia on their shoulder as he did. The 82nd as a Special Operations Division was an elite unit specialising in unorthodox combat operations, night fighting and rapid tactical insertions, missions not dissimilar to what their ancestors conducted on horseback; to see them prepared for excavation duty was a troubling sight. The Colonel fixed his peaked cap before addressing the grouped soldiers.

“Gentlemen, we have been tasked with a mission of high importance that will take us into the Eastern Desert. Now I know the last time we were in that region we did things in the name of the Führer that no one here is proud of, but this time around we will be able to make up for it.” Pausing to looking out onto the sea of blue and tan and the faces that agreed with him, he wished he was a better public speaker. “The road we walk to redemption is long and arduous with many obstacles still yet to overcome, but when we succeed we do so not only for our own souls, but for the people of Amestris. We have a lot of work to do, people, and a reputation to maintain, mount up.”  
The arrayed soldiers snapped to attention as one body before regimental officers turned around from their positions at the front of the formation and started to break the unit up, shouting orders to load equipment, and move personnel to their designated method of transportation.

Azrael stepped down the steps beside the podium and headed for his waiting off-road staff car that sat at the head of the convoy. Athena stood waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, the colonel’s tan overcoat folded over the heavy-duty attaché case in her left hand, the strap of an enhanced combat rifle slung against her right shoulder. Handing the colonel his overcoat, she fell into step behind him as they headed for the waiting command vehicle.  
“All supplies and equipment have been loaded in the lorries; we have a detachment of combat engineers assigned to operate the earthmoving equipment, they left their compound two hours ago and will meet us on the road,” Athena reported as soldiers moved in units to climb aboard their assigned vehicles, joking and shoving convivially each other as they did.  
He nodded, slipping his overcoat over his field uniform, before looking up at a friendly cloud-filled sky. “Excellent to hear, Athena, and it appears the weather will be favourable for us,” he replied as Athena sat in the ‘nausea’ seat behind the driver. She placed her rifle in the purpose-built bracket beside it, resting the attaché case on the free seat beside her. Azrael looked down the line of vehicles as the last of the soldiers boarded before making the signal to start engines and prepare to leave. Taking the seat opposite Athena in the back of the staff car, he leant towards the driver. “Let’s get moving.”  
Slowly, like a large slow metallic serpent, the motorised convoy made its way out of the compound, towards one of the few roads heading east.


	2. Episode Two: Blood and Sand

Episode Two: Blood and Sand  
East Region: Main roadway to the Independent Ishbalan State, Amestris; 09:15am January 17, 1917  
As the 82nd continued its slow procession down the only real landmark in the region, the roadway connecting East City and the Ishbalan State, the convoy passed a steady stream of Ishbalan refuges, travelling in small groups either on foot or by cart, who were answering the call to return to their ancestral homeland. It was rare to see a convoy of military vehicles on the road as most cargo and military personnel destined for the Ishbalan State was transported by rail along the Amestrian-Xingese Railroad; there were times, however, when it was necessary to transport that cargo by road and this was one of them. Children, those too young to have experienced the horrors of the war of extermination, waved at the passing vehicles, laughing and dancing when the soldiers walking alongside the military vehicles returned their waves or gave them candy. Their parents and grandparents were far wearier as the grey canvas-covered military vehicles and their cargo made the traverse between the paved road and compressed sand; the procession brought back images of the war, of the forced relocation and the genocide. Adult Ishbalans quickly rounded up the children when the direction the convoy was heading became obvious; while it was commonplace to have the State Military head to the newly established Ishbalan State, it was never at full regimental strength.  
At the head of the convoy, Azrael leant back in his seat, the seat next to him was covered in notes, photographs and sketches from the file; occasionally, the Colonel would write notes in a small black notebook, all the while muttering to himself, on occasion slipping into ancient Xerxian. It took Athena shifting uncomfortably in her seat and groaning audibly to distract him from his study. He looked up over the top of his notebook at her. “Problem, Lieutenant?”  
The lieutenant shot him a bemused expression before removing her overcoat. “When I enlisted, they gave me a blue woollen uniform which is great for the colder climates of the rest of Amestris. When the situation in Ishbal first escalated some genius somewhere deep within High Command realised that this uniform is a little too obvious for the desert so they decide to throw spats and an overcoat on top. What they didn’t take into account was just how hot this all became when out in the desert, and that was ten years ago.”  
The colonel placed his papers down on the unoccupied seat before looking over at her, “If I recall, by the time you graduated the Academy the war had already been in full swing for nearly five years, and it could be worse, Lieutenant you could be required to wear a tiny miniskirt.” He smirked, his response causing the lieutenant to cringe before she looked out the window at the oncoming sand dunes.   
“So why aren’t we travelling by train again?” she asked as the car started to bounce on the uneven road, forcing the lieutenant to hold onto the seat beside her to keep upright.   
“There was a derailment on the Xingese side of the line, it seems the nomadic tribes have taken to using the sleepers for firewood; until they can verify that every sleeper is present, they’ve suspended rail travel,” Azrael replied before closing his notebook and slipping it into his breast pocket. “And besides, there is no railway to Xerxes, we would have required these vehicles once we left Ishbal.”  
“So where is our first stop when we get to the Ishbalan State?” she asked before moving on to remove her service jacket, revealing the black singlet top underneath, sighing in relief when she did so.   
“The Security Compound in the Kanda Province; while worship of Ishvala strictly forbids the practice of Alchemy, there are several references to holy objects and relics in their dogma that could be the Sphere. Because of the events of the Promised Day there is a new sect of Ishvala worship popping up who practise what they believe to be an ‘untainted fusion’ of alchemy and alkahestry which they say is permitted by scripture. In addition, Ishbalan refugees went into hiding within the Xerxian ruins following the occupation, it was the location that Mustang coordinated his resistance against Bradley. All this means that if anyone out there might know anything about the Sphere it should be the new Ishbalan High Cleric.” Azrael handed excerpts from the file to her, portions of interviews Amestrian historians and sociologists had conducted at the beginning of the occupation.   
Athena met his gaze. “But the new High Cleric is Scar…”  
“And he vowed to wipe out every State Alchemist who participated in the war and were it not for the actions of FullMetal, he might have succeeded; at no point did I say it was going to be easy, Athena,” Azrael interrupted her before placing his left hand on the arm rest of the seat. “There are still things from my past I need to atone for, and assisting Kimblee commit genocide during the war is at the top of that list; capturing him did not clear the ledger, and I doubt our business in Ishbal will absolve it, but it’s at least a step in the right direction.”

West City: Military Command Headquarters, Amestris; 09:15am January 17, 1917  
A faint breeze wafted in from across the border as the morning sun warmed the marble flagstones of the Western Command Centre. A tall woman in a state military uniform with cherry black hair and green eyes leant against one of the many colonnades that comprised the observation plaza, a cup of coffee in one hand and wearing bored expression; this had been her life following the Promised Day Incident, lazy mornings and sunny days.  
“Exile sure is enjoyable,” the woman muttered dryly before taking another sip of her coffee, glad at least that most of the coffee beans in Amestris were produced in the west so the brew she was drinking was at least fresh. The sound of regimented bootsteps behind her signalled that the woman was no longer alone. “I was wondering when you were going to come and find me, Vincent,” her melodic voice carried with the breeze before turning to face her guest.   
“Yes, ma’am, there has been a lot of activity around the East that I thought you might be interested in,” her dark-haired subordinate reported, standing at attention.   
“Vincent. Didn’t you hear, you don’t have to stand on formality with me anymore,” she tapped the loops on her shoulders that would normally hold rank slides twice and smiled her crooked smile. “This means nothing now, or didn't you get that memo? Hell, I don’t even know why I still wear the uniform,” she replied. ‘Oh wait, that’s right, it’s because they make me,’ she thought, looking squarely at the young second lieutenant as he drew a cigarette from a packet in his pants, placing the tip in his mouth. “So what news have you uncovered? Have they finally set a date for my execution?”  
Vincent took a step back slightly before shaking his head. “Ma’am, we have been over this, they are not going to execute an innocent woman,” he replied before handing her a slip of paper signalling the change of subject. “Looks like the 82nd Mounted may have been redeployed; scuttlebutt says their entire barracks is empty.”  
The woman snatched the unlit cigarette from her subordinate’s mouth and lit it herself. “That is more than interesting, Vince; it takes more than a little issue to move an entire Special Operations Division, even if it belongs to Gotha,” she replied. As she took one long satisfied draw from the cigarette, the scar on her chest started to itch, causing the woman to snarl. Ever since the Promised Day, the scars she bore on her body continued to be a source of irritation and pain to her, particularly the raised circular scar sitting above her cleavage.   
Vincent could see her pained expression and placed a comforting hand on her left arm. “There is still nothing the doctors can do to help with the pain?”  
She shook her head. “There is a difference between can do and will do. I will deal with the pain as part of punishment for what I did as Lust. It’s not like I deserve to be healed, when I don't even forgive myself for everything I was made to do. Two human beings were made into Homunculi. Greed gave that Xingese Prince Ling his body back without a scratch, while Lust was extracted clawing at every strand to stay within me before she disappeared.” She raised both her hands, the sunlight reflecting off solid metal vambraces that started at her wrists and ended at mid forearm, counter alchemical symbols cut deep into their surface. “To be honest, these little trinkets from Gotha don’t help things either, essentially more salt into the wounds. If I could use my blood alchemy, I might be able to heal myself, but until the State deems me no further threat, I’m not even allowed to look at an Alchemical textbook.” Almost out of instinct, she reached down for the familiar weight of an alchemist’s pocket watch hanging from her belt, slumping her shoulders when she remembered in that her title and watch had been stripped from her for her involvement in the Promised Day Incident.   
“But it’s been two years; the treason trials have long ended, and those that sided with the old regime are either dead or serving lengthy jail sentences. It’s almost criminal in itself to leave you in legal limbo like this,” Vince commented. He was going to continue pushing the point but the pained expression his companion bore silenced him.

“Vince, I appreciate the sentiment, but there are reasons why my fate is in limbo, they need to be sure that I can be charged for the things that Lust did.” The woman stated before a series of regimented footfalls echoed behind the young Lieutenant. The two turned to acknowledge a major and two black-uniformed military police officers.   
“Things are a little more complicated than that, Colonel Shelby,” the major remarked as the three came to a stop opposite them under the colonnade. “Major Dennis Argo from the Inspector General’s office; I have come a very long way to collect you, Colonel.”  
The woman crushed the extinguished cigarette under her boot before pointing to her vacant rank boards, angling her chest to make sure that the Major could see them clearly. “I don’t know who you’re asking for, ’cause if you’re looking for Colonel Shelby, she doesn’t exist anymore.”  
Major Argo shook his head before one of the military police handed him a folder; opening it, he removed a photo attached to a service record, holding up the woman’s booking photo. “Colonel Camron Shelby, formerly the Blood Alchemist, assigned commanding officer 15th SOD unit; charged with sedition, murder and conspiracy to commit genocide while under the control of the entity known as Lust.”  
Camron sighed before turning her back to the major as he continued to read out her rap sheet before turning back, no longer amused. “Is there a point to this or are you a new part of my punishment?” 

The major closed the file and handed it back to the MP before smiling. “I was told to expect that temper; I have good news, you’re being transferred. It’s time you faced your crimes.” He motioned briefly to one of the MPs who removed a pair of heavy iron cuffs attached to a solid bar. Camron held up both hands without protest, allowing the guard to do his assigned task; she immediately felt the weight of the cuffs against her wrists tapping against the vambraces on her forearms but remained quiet, her expression becoming despondent. She had been waiting for this for two years.   
Vince, however, was furious, stepping towards the newcomers as they started to lead Camron away. “This can’t be necessary; if Colonel Shelby was a threat, she would never have been allowed out of jail to begin with.” Both MPs reached for the pistols on their belts.   
“Stand down, Lieutenant; I’m under orders from Central Command to bring her in in chains. You may accompany us if you wish, but make no attempt to get in our way,” Argo warned, holding a hand out to steady the two guards who were unsure how the young officer was going to act. The two wearily kept their hands near their holsters, ready to draw their service pieces at a moment’s notice. 

However, it was Camron’s expression that stopped Vincent cold. Her eyes had become sunken, her head was bowed, and her hair fell around her face like a funerary shroud; the expression of a condemned woman accepting her fate. “Vincent, we both knew this day was coming, don’t try and help me by making it worse for yourself.” The young lieutenant tried to protest further but the former colonel’s expression silenced him. He met her gaze and nodded solemnly.   
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured quietly before turning to face the Major. “When will you be departing for Central?”  
Argo looked down at the slip of paper one of the MPs handed him before handing it to the young man. “We will be on the evening train departing West City for Central at 2045 hours, in the military carriage, the train will not wait for you, so if you are accompanying the colonel, I suggest you not be late.” Vincent straightened and saluted, though it wasn’t the Major he was saluting. Argo simply grunted in response to the lieutenant’s action.   
“I’ll be there, don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll settle things here and meet you at the station,” Vincent called out as Argo motioned for the MPs to lead the former colonel away.  
East Region, New Ishbala, Amestris Security Compound, Kanda Province, Independent Ishbalan State; 12:35pm January 17, 1917  
The convoy pulled into the regional security compound, a complex consisting of tents, razor wire and wooden watchtowers. Brigadier Mustang wanted the temporary appearance of the base to be intentional to let the Ishbalan people know that Amestris’s involvement in their country wasn’t going to be permanent. It was gestures such as this, including the sowing of wheat and cotton, which comprised of the General’s framework for Ishbal’s independence; a gradual withdrawal of Amestrian assets and an eventual complete handover to local Ishbalan authorities. The military’s presence here was to provide training and protection from the desert’s violent nomadic tribes and opportunistic smugglers who may have used the fledging state for nefarious means or as a staging area for attacks against the State. 

The staff car pulled away from the convoy and came to a stop on a concrete quad outside a large open-plan tent as the rest of the convoy continued on to the motor pool to refuel and offload supplies intended for the compound. By the time Azrael had opened the door an officer with the sleeves of her tan uniform folded up to the elbow had exited the tent to and approached him.   
“Colonel Gotha?” the officer asked, lifting the brim of her field cap, shielding her eyes from the midday sun.  
Gotha nodded before exchanging salutes as Athena joined them, slipping her uniform jacket back on in the same movement while reaching for her rifle; she took one look at the newcomer and groaned slightly as she slung the rifle strap over her shoulder.   
“Colonel, I’m Major Elizabeth Cromwell of the Desert Corps, commander of Security Compound Bravo; Eastern Command radioed ahead and informed us you were coming, and told me to give you all the help you need. So if there is anything I can do to help your expedition, sir, say the word and I’ll see what I can do,” the officer replied before motioning for the two to follow her inside the command tent.   
“Thank you for the offer, Major; we may take you up on it. There is in fact one thing you can do for us right now, I need to speak to the Ishbalan High Cleric, it is of some urgency,” Azrael said, noticing his aide’s envious gaze on the uniforms of the Desert Corps when compared to her own uniform. Tan shirts and trousers, with wide-brimmed field hats. The two shared a quick glance, as Athena wondered why they were not issued with the same uniform; however, the colonel’s expression towards her stopped her from voicing that opinion.  
“That shouldn’t be a problem, sir; but it may take some time, as he has quite a busy schedule running the affairs of the state but I will see what I can do,” Elizabeth said, gesturing for a subordinate officer to hand her a nearby report to skim over before she signed it. Handing it back she looked up once more to take in the two as Azrael removed his overcoat, the insignia of the Special Operations Division on his shoulder now clearly visible. Elizabeth took a step back and noticeably swallowed as she also saw the campaign ribbon for the Inspector General’s Office. “I see they didn’t equip you with the new uniform.”  
“That would be correct, Major; Brigadier Mustang’s summons gave us very little time to equip for the climate, and Eastern Command has a shortage of the desert pattern uniform,” Azrael replied, handing the coat to Athena who returned it to the staff car before joining him once more.   
“We can’t help you either I’m afraid, the new uniform has only just been introduced to the East so there are shortages throughout the theatre. What is being supplied goes out to the other compounds as soon as it arrives,” Elizabeth commented while leaning against a nearby desk, crossing her arms across her chest as a small group of soldiers on horseback left the compound.   
Azrael turned to observe what the Major was looking at before gazing around the sand-covered compound, his eyes returning to the major. “Is there anything that we can do to help out while we are here?”   
“There are a lot of the refugees returning here who aren’t in a good way medically; it appears that a lot of the camps Bradley set up existed solely to contain and slowly decimate the Ishbalan population. At the moment, we are looking after the refugee processing including their health assessments. The local Ishbalan authorities just don’t have the resources natively here to take care of it at the moment; sir, if your medical detachment has the time, we could use help dealing with the influx,” the major replied before stiffening slightly. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have a patrol coming back in from the border that I need to debrief, but I will get on top of your request to see the High Cleric.”  
Azrael nodded as the major collected her field cap and exited the tent, leaving the two standing alone amid the myriad of tables manned by NCOs and junior officers who were typing up reports or reviewing reconnaissance photos from the Amestrian Balloon Corps. “Athena, find me Doctor Baxter, I have a feeling that Madeline will want to do what she can here.” The lieutenant nodded before she too left the command tent, leaving the colonel to read over local weather reports and tribal sightings.

Athena returned moments later, a shorter, pale-skinned woman with blonde hair in tow: the red diamond arm and hatbands denoted her as a member of the Amestrian State Medical Corps. Doctor Madeline Baxter; the Sacred Heart Alchemist held her hand over her ice blue eyes to shield them from the midday sun. The two entered the tent, approaching Azrael. “You called for me, Colonel?” Madeline asked, resting her hand on the brown leather medical satchel hanging from her right shoulder.  
Azrael turned to face the only other Alchemist in the regiment and nodded. “Yes, Doctor, as you may have noticed, the health and wellbeing of a lot of the Ishbalan people is not great, the base commander here has requested your services and those of your staff in assisting the processing of displaced persons temporarily. Apparently, a lot of the returning Ishbalans are in varying stages of health and the local facilities simply aren’t capable of dealing with the load.”  
Madeline’s expression lightened, before she cast her gaze across the compound “I will do what I can to help out, but, Colonel, until I see the facilities I’ll be working out of, I’m not sure how much use I can be to these people.”  
The colonel smiled. “I’m sure you will work miracles, regardless of what you find, but I wouldn’t delay, I do not know how long we will be here for.”  
The doctor beamed before straightening her posture, keeping a hand on the satchel. “Then I shan’t disappoint, sir.” Azrael nodded.   
“Very good, then get to work, dismissed.”  
Madeline turned on a bootheel and exited the tent; Athena stepped aside letting her past and approached the colonel. “So what will the rest of us do in the meantime?”  
Azrael took in his aide, acknowledging her flustered expression. “I don’t want the men straying far from the compound; while the region is safe for Amestrians, I am not sure how long we will be here and I don’t want to have to go looking for anybody once I’ve completed my investigation. Until we know more we should prepare the convoy for off-road travel. Let Doug know that I want him to oversee the refuelling and resupply operations; platoon leaders are to see that every soldier under their command has enough food and, more importantly, water, and generally try to keep in the shade as much as possible for I doubt there will be another opportunity to resupply once we get underway. I want all company commanders reviewing these maps and tribal movement patterns, I’m not sure where we will end up when this finishes, so I want everyone prepared.”   
His brunette aide nodded, before turning to exit the tent, pausing to look over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold. “What will you be doing?” she asked, placing her left hand over her eyes to compensate the change in light. Azrael briefly scribbled something in his notebook before joining her outside the tent, heading for the staff car.   
“Tying up loose ends until Major Cromwell can organise a meeting with Scar, as well as attempt to determine just what the lost expedition into Xerxes was looking for as it may be connected to their disappearance, and that disappearance may be connected to what we are searching for.” Opening the door, he collected the folder from the back seat and turned to face the driver who was standing beside the driver’s door. “Hastings, drive over to the motor pool and get this thing refuelled and watered, and for god’s sake, keep out of the sun, your faltering out there, if I need you I will come find you.”  
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Hastings replied before getting back into the driver’s seat of the staff car and turning over the engine. Athena stepped onto the car’s running board before leaning into the window.  
“We’re heading the same way, so I’ll tag along,” she commented before opening the rear door and taking a seat inside as the car started to pull away from the tent, leaving the colonel to his research. Azrael turned back towards the tent, the sand crunching under his boots as he headed back inside, taking a seat at an unoccupied table and started going through his notes.

East Region, New Ishbala, Amestris Security Compound, Kanda Province, Independent Ishbalan State; 1:45pm January 17, 1917  
Azrael had paid little attention to the steady stream of 82nd Mounted officers who came into the command tent as he was busy reviewing his own research, comparing it to locations on a detailed map of the region to chart the progress made by the former head of the Amestrian State. The officers gave the colonel a wide berth as they inspected framed maps, weather reports and memorandums detailing the movements of the nomadic tribes throughout the Eastern Desert as well as contact reports of those tribes that had been declared hostile to the activities of Amestris. To many of these tribes, the recent regime change meant little as they considered the desert to be theirs and any incursion into their domain was met with by force. The colonel knew that once the convoy left, they were walking into the possibility of an ambush and that they may share the same fate as the Xerxian expedition; however, he hoped that giving them access to as much information as possible might prevent that from occurring.   
Major Cromwell returned to the tent and removed her field hat, running a hand through her short auburn hair at the same time. She acknowledged her Command Sergeant Major who stepped towards her with fresh reports before returning to his duties. The major tucked the reports under her arm and approached Azrael, coming to a stop opposite the desk he was working at; by the time she reached him, the colonel had closed his research notes and folded his hands over it.  
“Colonel, I have managed to arrange for you to see the Ishbalan High Cleric; it wasn’t easy, but once I told him that it was you that wanted to speak to him, he readily approved of the request. However, he does not have a lot of spare time; I have arranged for a driver and a vehicle to take you to the Temple right away,” she reported, shifting her weight as the colonel stood. Athena who was nearby liaising with Bravo Compound personnel looked up from what she was doing and took in the two officers before placing the phone receiver she had just picked up back in its cradle. She then collected the Colonel’s field cap and joined the two as they exited the tent, handing the cap to Azrael when she intercepted them.  
“During the Alchemist Murders, those who had been despatched to Ishbal were warned that Scar had tracked down the identities and locations of those who were involved in the Final Solution when he destroyed the State Archives. I knew that for my part in the war, I suspected that I would have been high up on that list. Fortunately had it not been for my erratic movements during the post-war years, my name might have been added to the wall along with the others,” the colonel commented as the two women flanked him as they headed for the town car.   
Athena frowned before Azrael opened the rear passenger door for the Lieutenant. “Do you think there may be an ulterior motive for his accepting your request for an audience?” she asked, climbing into the back of the car before Azrael joined her.   
The colonel shook his head as Major Cromwell instructed the driver of their destination. “It would be unwise for a foreign head of state of such a fragile new nation like Scar to co-opt an official appearance to satisfy a blood feud. The murder of a ranking Amestrian officer on official business so close after the foundation of the Ishbalan State would jeopardise the terms of the treaty. That, however, does not mean that we shouldn’t be on our guard; while his hands may be bound, his subordinates may not have such restrictions; either way I have questions that need answers. Driver, let’s get going.”   
Major Cromwell stepped away from the car as the driver turned over the engine before fixing her uniform jacket. “I would join you, but I have duties that need to be attended to here, good luck, Colonel.” Straightening, she placed two fingers against the side of her head in informal salute before turning on a bootheel and heading back into the compound as the staff car pulled away.


End file.
